


The Preposterous Predictions

by knockoutmouse



Category: A Series of Unfortunate Events (TV)
Genre: Ableism, Awkward sexual advances, Backstory, Biting, Bullying, Canon Disabled Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-typical abusive behavior, Canonical Child Abuse, Clothed Sex, Coffee, Crying, Cuddling & Snuggling, Declarations Of Love, Deus Ex Machina, Dirty Talk, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Romance, Feelings Realization, Frottage, Headcanon: Henchperson of Indeterminate Gender is autistic, Healthy Relationships, Henchperson does not have time for this shit, Henchperson is called Rory, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, Lingerie, Love Confessions, Misgendering, Moral Dilemmas, Morally Ambiguous Character, Nonbinary Character, Oral Sex, Other, Panic Attacks, Self-Esteem Issues, Sexual Fantasy, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Supportive Partners, Swearing, Teasing, Transphobia, late night philosophizing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-08-12
Packaged: 2019-06-17 11:05:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 13,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15459987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knockoutmouse/pseuds/knockoutmouse
Summary: During the events of The Grim Grotto, Fernald wants to return to the Queequeg with Fiona. But he doesn't want to leave without Rory.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ellie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellie/gifts).



> Starts immediately following Chapter Nine in The Grim Grotto. 
> 
> This first chapter is mostly setup and has a good deal of overlap with Ch. 10 in the book, but from Fernald's POV. (If you haven't read the book, I highly recommend it--the chef salad speech is brilliant.)

The door of the brig slammed shut.

Fernald stared in disbelief. “Fiona?” he managed finally. 

The tall, dark-haired girl stared back. “Fernald?”

She charged at him and threw her arms around him. Still in shock, Fernald could only return the embrace—he’d never expected to see his sister again. 

Then Fiona pulled away and looked up at him in concern, her eyes going glossy, threatening tears. “What happened to—?”

“Shh. Not now.” Fernald realized that Fiona hadn’t entered the room alone, and looked over her shoulder to see who had accompanied her. “Baudelaires! Wait—”

Great, this was the last thing he needed, his sister teaming up with Count Olaf’s enemies. He could only imagine what Olaf would do to him when he found out—Shout at him? Nothing new. Hit him? He could handle that. Throw him out of the troupe? Well, if it came to that—

Out of the troupe. Away from Rory. 

No. He couldn’t deal with that, couldn’t even imagine it. He had to resolve this situation as soon as possible. 

He turned back to Fiona, remembering at the last minute to disguise his panic as anger. “Don’t tell me you’ve joined up with them?”

“No,” said Fiona. “They’ve joined up with me. I’m the captain of the Queequeg now that our stepfather has disappeared. Aye!”

Something occurred to Fernald. “Hang on. I only see two orphans. Where’s the baby?”

Violet Baudelaire held out a metal sphere. On second glance, Fernald recognized it as a diving helmet. 

“In here,” said Violet, looking as if she were about to cry. 

“What?” Fernald leaned closer and peered through the helmet’s window. Frowning, he tapped on the glass with one hook. “Baby?”

“Don’t!” said Klaus.

Violet snatched away the helmet. “She’s very ill.” 

“Infected with the Medusoid Mycelium,” explained Fiona. 

“But surely—the Medusoid Mycelium was destroyed when Anwhistle Aquatics burned down,” said Fernald. 

“That’s what we thought, too,” said Fiona, “but some of the fungus survived despite the fire.”

Fernald felt a sick, heavy feeling sink down upon him. He looked down at his hooks. “Then it was all for nothing.”

“What?” asked Fiona. Behind her, Violet and Klaus exchanged a look.

Fernald shook his head. Then the starting point of their conversation finally clicked into place. “The baby has been poisoned with the Medusoid Mycelium? That’ll kill her!”

“Unless we work quickly to find the antidote,” said Violet.

“Please, let us return to the Queequeg to consult Fiona’s mycological library,” said Klaus. “Every minute we spend here is shortening our sister’s life.”

“She who hesitates is lost!” said Fiona. “Aye!”

“Or he,” added Klaus.

“Oh God, don’t you start with the _aye_ nonsense now,” grumbled Fernald. “All right, I’ll let you go back to the Queequeg, on one condition.” He would let them go back anyway if that’s what it took to save Sunny, but they didn’t need to know that just yet.

“Anything,” said Violet.

“Take me with you,” said Fernald.

Again the Baudelaires exchanged a look, but Fiona immediately replied, “Of course!”

“We can sneak back through the rowing room,” said Fernald, opening the door. As he stepped into the hallway, he hesitated, despite his sister’s personal philosophy. 

“Why are you stopping?” asked Klaus impatiently.

“There’s someone I have to talk to first,” said Fernald.

“We don’t have time!” cried Violet.

Fernald turned quickly to his sister. “Fiona, take the Baudelaires back to the Queequeg. If I’m not there in twenty minutes, leave without me.”

“We mustn’t be separated again!” Fiona objected. 

“Go!” ordered Fernald. He hated the harshness of his tone, the sight of his baby sister’s eyes welling up behind her glasses, but sending them off was the best thing for Sunny—and for Fiona, in case he couldn’t join them. 

Fernald pointed one hook in the direction of the oar room. Fiona nodded and led the Baudelaires down the hallway, while Fernald started in the opposite direction.


	2. Chapter 2

Fernald hurried down the hallway. Speed was more important than stealth right now—Olaf, Esme, and Carmelita were all in the oar room, and no one else was likely to question him. 

He hoped Rory would be in the staff barracks right now—not long before, they’d had a run-in with Carmelita, and afterwards had hurried out of the room. Fernald hadn’t heard what was said, but knowing Carmelita, it hadn’t been anything nice. He’d been en route to go check on Rory when Olaf had summoned him and sent him to the brig to wait on the prisoners.

The sensible part of his mind screamed at him to turn around now, to join his sister on the Queequeg and escape this godforsaken submarine and never look back. There was no reason, absolutely none, for what he was doing now.

The less sensible part refused to let him, even though he didn’t understand why. 

Fernald had many reasons for wanting to leave Olaf’s troupe. The morally questionable acts they carried out, for one. At one time, that hadn’t bothered Fernald very much, but Olaf’s wickedness seemed to have increased exponentially of late. Or maybe Fernald had just begun to have doubts ever since Rory had started to express misgivings about Olaf’s schemes—he remembered how much it had gotten to them when Olaf had thrown Josephine Anwhistle to the Lachrymose Leeches. They’d been quiet and withdrawn for _days_ after that. 

Then, of course, there was Carmelita Spats. She was self-centered and obnoxious and inflicted her terrible singing voice on those around her at every opportunity. Not to mention her constant cry of “Cakesniffer!” at anyone she even mildly disliked. But worse than that, she was mean to Rory. No more malicious than she was toward anyone else, true, but Fernald could see how it got to them. Especially the way she kept calling them _he_ instead of _they_. When Rory had tried politely (too politely, in Fernald’s opinion) to correct her, she’d kicked them in the shin. 

“Darling, she’s just a little girl,” Esme had said, patting Carmelita’s head. “You can’t expect her to understand all your strange ideas, and besides, pronouns aren’t _in_.”

“You literally just used pronouns in that sentence,” said Rory, but Esme had ignored them while Carmelita smirked.

Esme, that was another reason. Fernald had liked it better before she showed up. Now, Olaf was completely under her thumb, letting her drag him—and by extension, everyone else—all over creation in search of this wretched sugar bowl. And her ridiculous and impractical outfits, and calling him _Hooky_ , which he hated, and, worse still, her obsession with what was _in_.

It had been irritating enough when she kept pestering him to permanently exchange his leather jacket for a more _in_ pinstriped blazer (he’d refused, of course.) But worse than that—much, much worse—was the way she bullied Rory, hounding them about their accessories that weren’t _in_ and didn’t match. Esme didn’t understand, or didn’t care, that these hadn’t been chosen purely for fashion: the comforting texture of a faux fur vest or a silky scarf, a long strand of smooth beads to run through nervous fingers. 

Once, when Rory had worn a scarf that Esme had previously told them wasn’t _in_ , she’d ripped it from their neck and thrown it to the floor, and another time, she’d _screamed_ at them to stop playing with their necklace, that she was going to _absolutely murder_ them if they didn’t stop clicking those damned beads. 

Rory had frozen completely at that. They couldn’t handle being shouted at. Esme must have known that by now. Fernald had seen how Rory had clasped their hands behind their back instead after that, fingernails digging into their wrists hard enough to leave marks that didn’t fade for days, and Fernald had hated her for it ever since.

Somehow, all these terrible and villainous things bothered him much more when they were done to Rory. Fernald couldn’t imagine leaving them at Esme’s mercy and, more than that, couldn’t imagine life without them. 

Oh. Oh dear. That meant—he had _feelings_ , didn’t he?

Fernald had reached the barracks now, and was relieved to find Rory alone, sitting at the edge of their bed. They looked up at the sound of his footsteps. 

“Are you all right?” asked Rory. “You look upset.”

Rory looked upset, too, their lower eyelids red as if they’d been crying, but there was no time to ask about that now. 

“Olaf just captured my sister and the Baudelaires,” Fernald explained quickly. “I let them return to their submarine on the condition that I leave with them.”

For just an instant, a stricken expression crossed Rory’s face before being replaced by their usual placid blankness. “So what are you doing here?”


	3. Chapter 3

“I—I can’t—that is—” Fernald couldn’t say the words, couldn’t form a coherent sentence. He had to ask, had to make his feelings known. After all, even if Rory said no, if they didn’t reciprocate—what difference would it make if Fernald was leaving anyway? 

Before he could speak, Rory seemed to reach a decision. They took a step forward and caught hold of Fernald’s forearm. 

“Please don’t leave me,” they whispered.

“What? Of course I’m not leaving you. I came to ask you to go with me.”

“Really?” Rory asked incredulously. “You—you really want me to go with you?”

“Please come,” said Fernald. “I can’t—I _won’t_ leave without you.”

Rory gave him a look that was sad and wistful and almost—grateful?— all at once. 

“We don’t have much time,” said Fernald. “And we have to get past Olaf and Esme.”

“Let’s go.”

The two of them started back down the hallway, hurried past the brig, and paused outside the doorway of the oar room. 

“If only one of us makes it—” began Fernald.

“Shh,” said Rory. “We both will. I won’t leave without you, either.”

They slipped into the room unnoticed as Carmelita continued her tap dance recital. 

Over the next several nerve-wracking minutes, too unpleasant and dire to be fully described on this page, the two of them made their way around the edges of the room, keeping behind the pillars, and reached the Queequeg undetected. 

Carefully, only half-aware that he was holding his breath, Fernald climbed through the porthole of the submarine, offering a hook to Rory as they followed. They rested a hand on his arm as they lowered themselves through the porthole, and only then did Fernald allow himself a tentative sigh of relief. 

The other occupants of the submarine, however, did not appear relieved at all. The Baudelaire siblings huddled together, Violet clasping Sunny protectively to her chest. 

“Fernald!” cried Fiona in dismay. “How could you betray us?”

“What? No,” said Fernald. “What are you talking about?”

Since it is very rude to point at someone, Fiona merely inclined her head toward Rory, who shrank back behind Fernald. 

“Then what is she—he?” Fiona interjected uncertainly, squinting behind her triangular glasses, “—doing here?”

“This is Rory,” said Fernald. “They’re my friend, and they’re coming with us.”

“Hi,” said Rory.

“Absolutely not!” said Klaus Baudelaire. “Fiona, don’t be taken in by this treachery.”

“Fiona,” said Violet, “Please reconsider. Allowing a volatile person like your brother to come with us is enough of a risk as it is, and we know nothing about his associate, except that they work for Count Olaf.”

“Fernald—” began Fiona, but he cut her off.

“No!” Great, he’d been reunited with his sister less than an hour ago, and already he’d yelled at her twice. “We go together, or not at all. If you won’t allow Rory to join you, then I’m leaving, too.”

Fiona looked from Fernald to the Baudelaires. 

“He’s my brother,” she said quietly. “You have to understand.”

“Thank you,” said Fernald, and he meant it.

The Baudelaires didn’t look happy at this turn of events, but they kept silent.

“Right!” said Fiona, taking charge again. “No time to lose. Violet! Fire up the engines! Aye! I’ll steer! Aye! Klaus, finish repairing the porthole! Aye! You two, help Klaus! Aye! Sunny, you stay there and rest! Aye! She who hesitates is lost! Aye!”

“Or he,” said Klaus.

“Or they,” ventured Rory. 

Fiona only gave them a wary sideways look. “Now let’s get moving! Aye!” She turned and climbed up to the tiller. 

“Were we not adding our pronouns?” whispered Rory to Fernald. “I thought that’s what we were doing.”

Before Fernald could reply, the submarine shuddered and gave a horrible metallic screech as it began to move. 

Still eyeing them both distrustfully, Klaus said, “Help me reseal this pane of glass in the porthole. We must repair it quickly, before we reach the end of this tunnel, or we’ll all drown.”

Fernald looked down to where Klaus had pointed and saw the missing circle of glass now covered in a wet, sticky substance. Between the three of them, they lifted the glass and pressed it into place in the damaged porthole. 

Now Klaus did give a sigh of relief. 

“Thank you,” he said grudgingly. “But that doesn’t mean that I, or my sisters, trust you,” he added quickly.

“Your sister is better now?” asked Fernald. “The smaller one, I mean.”

“Yes,” Klaus said. “Sunny is still weak and needs to rest, but we were able to find an antidote quickly with Fiona’s help.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” said Fernald with sincerity. 

Klaus glared at him, but the glare seemed to lack his full conviction. 

The metallic scraping had lessened, and now, Fernald realized, it had subsided entirely.

Fiona gave a cry of jubilation. “We made it! We’re back in the ocean.”

“Now we can go to the last safe place,” said Klaus.

“And look,” said Violet, emerging into the main room holding up a few sheets of paper. “We’ve received a Volunteer Factual Dispatch.”

“We should start decoding it right away,” said Klaus. “I still have my notes that I took in the Gorgonian Grotto.”

“Not yet,” said Violet, reaching into the pocket of her uniform and withdrawing a folded sheet of newspaper. “First, we need to talk.”


	4. Chapter 4

Violet unfolded the newspaper and read aloud the beginning of the article she’d found, which claimed that Fernald had left his father’s submarine crew, joined the fire-starting side of VFD, and burned down Anwhistle Aquatics. 

Fiona stared at Fernald in horror. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at Rory. Nausea swept over him, but underneath was anger, bubbling up like a pot of puttanesca sauce over an open flame. All of this being brought up now—everything that he’d tried to forget— 

“Fernald,” said Fiona, a deep furrow forming on her brow, “Is this true?”

“Is anything in the Daily Punctilio true?” he snapped. Cold, crushing dread poured over him like icy seawater. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Fiona—I’ve done things in the past that I’m not proud of, but not everything printed in that article is the exact truth. Captain Widdershins is not my real father. Widdershins isn’t even my last name. And Anwhistle Aquatics—” He paused, and gave a sigh. “Look, it’s a lot more complicated than that article makes it out to be.”

“Gregor Anwhistle was killed in that fire,” said Violet.

“Are you really a murderer, Fernald?” asked Fiona, eyes brimming with disappointment. 

Fernald took a breath that was shakier than he would have liked. Perhaps if he could explain himself properly, they’d all stop looking at him like that and this awful feeling would subside, the feeling that something very bad was about to happen. “The day that Anwhistle Aquatics burned was the worst day of my life.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re an arsonist!” exclaimed Klaus. 

“And that you associate with terrible people, and have done terrible things!” said Violet. 

“Kletka,” added Sunny, meaning, “One time you even participated in a scheme which involved confining me in a small cage and dangling me out a high window.”

“Look, I _am_ sorry about that.” The room was warm, stifling. Fernald wiped his forehead with the sleeve of his uniform, but the slippery material only smeared sweat over his skin. He hadn’t said the right thing, hadn’t rid himself of the apprehension that felt like it was pressing in on him from all sides.

Sunny narrowed her eyes. 

“I let you out eventually,” protested Fernald. He coughed, not quite able to catch his breath. 

“You really put a baby in a cage?” said Fiona, appalled. 

“Technically, Olaf put her in the cage,” Rory chimed in, then frowned. “But…”

“We did help,” admitted Fernald. He tried again to draw a breath, but it felt as if his chest were constricted, filled with a fluttering like the wings of panicked birds.

“Tell us what really happened, then,” urged Fiona.

“I’m—” Fernald tried. He shook his head to chase away the feeling of dizziness that had suddenly overtaken him. “It’s not—” He gasped for air, but was only able to take in shallow, wheezing breaths. 

Rory laid a hand on his arm. “Are you okay?”

Fernald nodded. “I just—just need—” He coughed again, as if that would help him to breathe, but it didn’t.

“Mycelium?” asked Sunny in concern.

“That’s not possible,” said Fiona. “It’s safely contained within the diving helmet.”

“While it’s ordinarily unkind to suggest that a person in apparent distress is feigning their condition…” said Violet, and hesitated. 

Fernald leaned heavily against Rory. The room was swirling, closing in, but the space he occupied still far too open. His eyes began to water.

“A villainous person may very well do such a thing to avoid an uncomfortable conversation,” Klaus finished her sentence for her. 

“Echt,” said Sunny, which meant, “Whatever is happening to him seems very real to me.”

“He’s having a panic attack,” said Rory, placing an arm around Fernald’s waist to help him stay on his feet. “You can talk later. We’re going someplace quiet until he feels better.” Then their confidence left them. “So, is there—is there, like, another room, or—?”

“Go in the captain’s quarters,” said Fiona, and pointed. “Through there.”

Fernald gratefully allowed Rory to lead him into the small, familiar room and help him lower himself onto the bed. To his dismay, the lightheadedness persisted as even as he lay down. 

Rory was speaking but the words didn’t register. Then they disappeared out the door, leaving Fernald by himself.


	5. Chapter 5

Almost immediately, Rory returned with a glass of water. “Here. Can you try to drink this?” 

Fernald turned over on his side and reached for the glass. His hooks shook, clattering against it. 

“I’ve got it,” said Rory, and held the glass, tilting it toward him. But as Fernald tried to take a sip of the cool liquid, he gasped for air again and began coughing, bumping against the glass and sending water splashing everywhere. 

“Okay, maybe not just now.” Rory set the glass aside.

“Sorry,” managed Fernald. 

“Hey, it’s okay.” Rory sat down on the edge of the bed. “Is there anything you normally do to get through this?”

“I’ve—never—”

“Shh, don’t talk. You’ve never had this happen before?”

Fernald shook his head. 

“It’s all right. I know it might feel like you’re having a heart attack or something, but you’ll be okay, I promise.”

Fernald reached out weakly toward Rory before giving up and letting his hook fall back onto the bed. Rory understood, though, and placed a hand on Fernald’s arm, giving a reassuring squeeze. They looked down at him in concern and gently wiped away tears from his face.

That was when Fernald realized that he had been crying. He groaned in embarrassment. He hadn’t cried for—well, he couldn’t remember just now, couldn’t think clearly about much of anything, but here he was _crying_ , and in front of Rory, and what they must think—

“Hey, no, it’s okay. Crying during a panic attack is pretty common. Besides,” Rory added, “the idea that men shouldn’t cry is totally unfair and only serves to reinforce toxic masculinity. Would you like a blanket?” they went on without changing their tone. “Blankets always make me feel better.”

Fernald shook his head. Even though he recognized the truth in Rory’s words, he felt stupid and weak for crying, for breaking down like this to begin with, and most of all, for what he was about to ask them, even though he knew he needed it. 

“Hold me?”

“Yeah, of course.” Rory lay down next to Fernald. “Come here.”

Fernald threw his arms around Rory, burying his face against their shoulder. Rory pulled Fernald close to them, gently stroking his back. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

Somehow, their warmth and weight against Fernald helped him to feel more grounded. The two of them stayed like that for some time while Rory rubbed Fernald’s back and murmured comforting words. After a while, he found that he could breathe a little easier, although the looming feeling of dread didn’t dissipate.

“Would you like to try some breathing meditation with me?” asked Rory. “That’s something that always helped me.”

Fernald nodded. 

“Okay, so breathe in, like a really long breath, and while you’re doing it, acknowledge that you feel bad. Don’t try to fight it. Now, when you breathe out, do it really slow, all the air, and tell yourself that you’re releasing the tension. Imagine it leaving your body.”

Fernald closed his eyes and tried to follow Rory’s directions as they continued to speak softly to him. He found the evenness of their voice soothing, and after a time, he realized that he felt more sleepy than panicked. 

“I think I feel better,” said Fernald. 

“Are you sure?”

“I’m not at one hundred percent,” he admitted, “but I’m doing better than I was. I could probably get up now.”

Rory let go of Fernald and sat up. To Fernald’s surprise, this brought a sinking feeling of disappointment. Then something occurred to him. “That breathing thing—when you said it helped you, did you mean—?”

“I used to have panic attacks a lot,” said Rory, toying with the hem of the bedsheet. 

“I’m sorry,” said Fernald. “It was horrible. I can’t imagine having to go through that all the time.”

Rory shrugged. “I’m better now.”

“Well…thank you for helping me.” Fernald couldn’t look Rory in the eye now, despite his gratitude. 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” they told him. “It can happen to anyone. And besides—”

A knock at the door interrupted them.


	6. Chapter 6

Rory rose from the bed and answered the door. Sunny Baudelaire entered the room, carefully carrying a tray with a teapot and two cups. 

“Tea,” she said.

Fernald sat up. “Thank you.”

With both hands, Sunny took hold of the handle of the teapot, and with great effort, started to lift it from the tray.

“Why don’t you let me do that?” suggested Rory. “I wouldn’t want you to spill it and burn yourself.”

Sunny fixed them with a distrustful look. “Threaten?”

Rory looked questioningly at Fernald.

“No, of course not!” he answered. To Rory, he explained, “She thought you were threatening her.”

“I’m sorry,” they told Sunny. “That’s just my voice. I can’t help it.”

Sunny nodded. “Understand.” She relinquished her hold on the teapot.

Rory poured the tea and handed one cup to Fernald.

He took a sip.

“Retablir?” asked Sunny.

“Yes, I’m feeling mostly better, thanks.” He took another drink. “Are they waiting for us to come out?”

Sunny shook her head. She reached out and patted Fernald on the knee with her tiny hand. “When ready.” 

“Thank you for the tea,” said Rory, as Sunny turned to go.

“Welcome,” said Sunny, and closed the door behind her. 

They sat in silence, drinking their tea.

“Are _you_ all right?” asked Fernald.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I just thought I should check. It’s all been very sudden. I didn’t give you very long to make up your mind,” Fernald admitted. Now that he thought about it, maybe it had been unfair of him to spring this decision on them. 

“I didn’t need to make up my mind,” said Rory seriously. “I would have gone away with you anytime you asked.”

Fernald looked up from his teacup. “I was always afraid to ask in case you’d say no. And I couldn’t picture myself leaving, or honestly, doing _anything_ without you there. I’m not exactly sure what that means, or what you want it to mean, but I needed to tell you.”

“Um—I feel pretty much the same, actually,” said Rory. “So if that just means we’re, like, BFFs or whatever, that’s cool. But also, if you meant anything beyond that, like a relationship or something, I’m definitely open to the possibility. If that’s not too forward,” they added, looking down, twisting their fingers together in their lap.

Fernald grinned. “Definitely not too forward,” he said. “To tell the truth, I’ve felt that way for a while now, only it took the prospect of leaving without you for me to realize it.”

Rory laid a hand on Fernald’s wrist. “Me too. I mean, I did realize it, but I didn’t know if you were interested. And…I just want you to know, whatever you did before, it doesn’t matter. Well, with a couple exceptions, maybe. But still—”

“No, you should know,” interrupted Fernald. “Let’s go talk to my sister and the others. I don’t want to have to tell the story twice.”


	7. Chapter 7

Fernald led the way back into the main room. 

Fiona and Klaus looked up from the books and papers spread over the main table.

“Fiona,” said Fernald. “Let’s talk. I’ll answer your questions, if I can. Please get the others.”

“Are you sure?” asked Fiona. “I know you’ve only just met the Baudelaires—”

“We’ve met a few times before,” admitted Fernald guiltily. “And obviously they know as much as you do, so I think I should fill in the details for all of you.”

“Crew meeting!” called Fiona. “Aye!”

Fernald sat down next to Fiona. Rory took the seat on the other side of Fernald. Violet joined them from the engine room, sitting next to Klaus, and Sunny entered from the kitchen, bearing a tray with slices of birthday cake, and climbed into the remaining seat between Violet and Rory. 

“Sorry about earlier,” said Fernald. “It was all a little bit much for me to take.”

Fiona gave a sad smile and patted her brother on the arm. “Well—I’m glad you’re feeling better. What did you want to tell us?”

“What do you want to know?” he asked.

Violet and Klaus both quite evidently wished to ask questions, but they refrained, perhaps realizing that it would be polite to let Fiona speak first.

Fiona pushed up her glasses. “Why did you leave me and our stepfather? Did you really desert us to join Count Olaf and his troupe? And what about the fire at Anwhistle Aquatics? And—well, that’s a lot,” she admitted. “I shouldn’t ask you so many questions all at once.”

Fernald shook his head. “No, it’s all right. In fact, all of those questions go together. I realize you may not even believe me, and I don’t know all the details of the parts I wasn’t directly involved in, but I promise I’m telling you the truth. I’ve never told anyone about this before.”

“Listening,” said Sunny with a sympathetic nod. 

Fernald managed to give her a weak smile. He took a deep breath, and began. “A long time ago, before the schism, I used to train salmon and study poetry with Captain Widdershins—our stepfather. Fiona, you were just a small child then. When VFD split apart, I still believed that our side, the volunteers who put out fires, was noble, and that the fire-setting faction consisted of wicked and villainous people.”

“But that’s still true!” cried Klaus.

Fernald shook his head. “The world isn’t black and white,” he said. “A lot of us fall into more of a grey area, figuratively speaking. For example, Gregor Anwhistle was on our side of the schism, but he believed that cultivating the Medusoid Mycelium to use against our enemies was the right thing to do.”

“But villains,” said Sunny, with a shrug. 

“But isn’t engaging in biological warfare equally villainous?” asked Violet. 

“That’s what our stepfather thought,’ said Fernald, “and so did the Snicket siblings, and many other volunteers. They tried to reason with Gregor. Kit Snicket even wrote him a series of impassioned letters, begging him to see reason, but to no avail. Toward the end, it was as if he had transformed entirely, into a person we barely knew.”

“That doesn’t justify murdering him,” said Klaus. 

“Gregor Anwhistle’s death was never part of the plan,” said Fernald. “Eventually, in desperation, a small group of volunteers decided that the Medusoid Mycelium must be destroyed before something terrible occurred. My stepfather and I agreed to destroy the facility, since we would be able to approach it virtually undetected in the Queequeg, and blame would be placed on the fire-setting side of VFD. We knew we were committing a wicked act, but we believed it to be for a noble cause.”

The Baudelaire siblings exchanged an uneasy look.

“Ebenfalls,” said Sunny quietly.

“What my sister means,” said Klaus, “is that as much as we don’t want to admit it, we, too, have committed wicked acts without wicked intentions.”

“Go on,” Fiona urged Fernald. 

“The two of us sneaked into Anwhistle Aquatics in the middle of the night, when no one would be in the building,” said Fernald. “What we didn’t know was that Gregor Anwhistle was watching. When the building began to burn, he ran inside. We tried to stop him, but failed. I went after him. He was trying to save specimens from the lab, and there was an explosion—” Fernald frowned and shook his head. Rory placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

“That’s the last thing I remember,” said Fernald, “before I woke up on the Queequeg.”

“Is that how you lost your hands?” asked Fiona.

Fernald stared down at the table. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But—if you and our stepfather set the fire together—that newspaper article—?”

“No one was supposed to be hurt in the fire,” said Fernald. “But Gregor Anwhistle’s death drew attention to it. If anyone conducted an investigation, they would have learned that the Queequeg had been in the vicinity that night. If both the captain and I were arrested, Fiona, you would have effectively become an orphan and could easily have fallen into the clutches of villainous people, to say nothing of the damage that VFD’s reputation would have suffered. So we decided that I would take the blame, and our stepfather would circulate the story that I had deserted the crew and changed sides. Eventually, I fell in with Count Olaf’s acting troupe, and that was that. So, yes, I killed Gregor Anwhistle. I burned down his lab, and I abandoned my family.”

There was silence around the table for a long time. 

“Oh, Fernald,” said Fiona, taking off her glasses to wipe tears from her eyes. “I’m sorry I doubted you.” She embraced him. 

Then Klaus Baudelaire spoke up. “I once read a novel,” he said, “in which a man ran away from his family and took the blame for a crime he didn’t commit in order to protect them and spare them shame and embarrassment. Although he tarnished his reputation and lived in desperate circumstances, no one could deny that it was a noble gesture. Although you’ve still committed many villainous acts against me and my siblings,” said Klaus sternly, “I owe you an apology. You’re not a murderer.”

“We know how it feels when people believe terrible falsehoods about you,” said Violet kindly, “although I know it isn’t the same situation. My siblings and I still had each other.”

“Not alone,” said Sunny. “Not now.” She climbed across the table to clasp Fernald’s hook in both hands. 

“Thank you, Sunny,” he said. 

“We have something to tell you, too,” said Fiona. “While you were resting, we decoded the Volunteer Factual Dispatch that we received. There will be a taxicab waiting for us at Briny Beach. We should arrive there by morning.”


	8. Chapter 8

“Cake!” said Sunny, gesturing to the slices of cake she had brought to the table. 

“Oh! I almost forgot!” cried Fiona. “Yes, let’s have cake.”

Sunny quickly passed around plates of cake to everyone at the table. 

“I’m sorry there aren’t any candles,” said Fiona. “Happy birthday, Violet.”

“Happy birthday,” echoed Fernald along with the rest of the table, though he felt that he shouldn’t be there. He had caused the Baudelaires enough suffering; he shouldn’t invade their birthday party, too. 

Fernald rose unobtrusively from the table and left the room. He made his way slowly down the hallway and into the barracks, where he sank down onto a rather sad-looking bunk bed. Only now did he realize how exhausted he was. Tomorrow morning they would arrive at Briny Beach. Then it was a choice between heading on to the Hotel Denouement, the last safe place, or searching for this mysterious taxicab. Or—

“Hey,” said Rory from the doorway. “Are you all right?”

“Just thinking,” said Fernald. “And to be honest, I felt out of place back there.”

Rory sat down next to him. “Me too. That’s why I volunteered to come look for you when Fiona realized you were gone. Plus it was super awkward being there by myself.”

“I’m sorry,” said Fernald. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

“Do you want to be alone for a while?”

“No, it’s all right. I’ll come back.” But before Fernald could stand, Rory moved closer and took hold of his forearm.

“I want to tell you something,” they said. “I just want you to know, I don’t think you’re a bad person.”

“You don’t? Even after everything I told you?”

Rory shook their head. “Especially not after that.”

Fernald sighed. “Honestly, I’m not sure how _I_ feel about it anymore. Everything’s very confusing right now.”

“Overwhelming,” agreed Rory.

“Yes.”

“If you feel like talking about it anymore, right now, or whenever, I’m here, okay?”

“Thank you,” said Fernald. “I know I haven’t really had the chance to say it, but I care about you a lot and I’m glad you came with me.”

Rory drew him into an embrace, holding him tight, and Fernald knew they returned the feeling, even if they didn’t say it the same way.

When they let him go, they stammered, “I—I do, too—you, I mean. Ugh, I’m sorry, I’m not good at putting this kind of thing into words—”

“It’s okay,” said Fernald. “I know what you mean.”

“We should probably go back.”

The two of them returned to the main room.

“There you are,” said Fiona. “We were just deciding on sleeping arrangements. The captain’s quarters belong to me now, but since there’s only four beds in the barracks, I thought I’d sleep there and temporarily relinquish my quarters to you. Both of you,” she added quickly.

“But—” Fernald began to protest. 

Fiona’s mouth dropped open and her hands flew to her face. “Wait. Oh my God. Are you two not—together? I thought—I’m so embarrassed.”

“No, no, we are,” said Fernald. “It’s just—” He looked apologetically to Rory.

“I don’t mind sharing a room,” said Rory. “It’s totally fine. No problem.”

“You don’t sound very sincere,” said Fiona suspiciously.

Rory sighed. “That’s just my voice.”

“Sorry,” said Fiona. “Now, as captain, I order us all to get a good night’s sleep before we arrive at Briny Beach tomorrow! Aye! Except me, because I will be piloting the submarine! Aye!”

“Good night, Fiona,” said Fernald, trying not to let the _aye_ s get to him too much.

Back inside the captain’s quarters, Fernald opened a cupboard beneath the bed. As he expected, he found a supply of clean linens, and took out a new set of sheets and pillowcases. “I thought you might want clean bedding,” he explained to Rory.

“You’re right.” They tried not to shudder as they stripped the greasy sheets off the bed, which evidently hadn’t been changed for some time. 

“You really don’t mind?” asked Fernald. “Staying in the same room, I mean?”

“Not at all,” said Rory, tucking the corners of the new sheet under the mattress. “Unless it makes you uncomfortable?” They stopped and looked up at him in worry. “Should I not have told her it was okay? I didn’t mean to pressure you or anything. I just thought since we were already lying in bed together earlier, it wouldn’t be a big deal, but I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“I don’t mind at all,” said Fernald. “I just thought you might. But since you don’t, I see no problem.”

Rory smoothed out the blankets and set to work changing the pillowcases. 

“Sorry I’m not much help with that,” said Fernald. 

“Don’t worry about it,” they replied.

“Can I ask you a question?” 

Rory finished one pillow, tossed it back onto the bed, and picked up the other one. “Sure, what’s up?”

“Why did _you_ end up joining the acting troupe?”

They threw the dirty pillowcase into the corner. “It’s not a very good story. I mean, like, narratively. I had trouble finding a job after grad school and I was feeling kind of down about it, so I got involved in community theater to take my mind off it. You remember, back when Olaf was doing actual plays?” They returned the second pillow to the bed and folded back the blankets. 

Fernald couldn’t help laughing. “That’s it?”

“Yeah, that’s it. Totally by chance, no nefarious scheme behind it. And then, you know, you seemed cool, so I kept hanging around.”

“Well, I’m glad you did. Which side of the bed do you want?” asked Fernald.


	9. Chapter 9

“Doesn’t—” Rory paused to yawn. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“Me either,” said Fernald. He took off his uniform and began to remove the clothing beneath it. “I hope this isn’t too weird for you.”

“Which part?” asked Rory, as they too began to undress for bed.

“Well, sleeping together—in the same bed, I mean,” Fernald quickly corrected himself. He stripped off his shirt and removed his prosthetics. “But now that you mention it, it has been a weird day. Deserting our boss, running away together, my sister giving us her room and working out that we were a couple almost before we did...”

Fernald turned around, wearing only his undershirt and boxers, and gasped. He’d known, of course, that Rory was taking off their clothing, but it hadn’t registered as more than a background event. Now that information finally sank in as they stood in front of him in a delicate cream-colored negligee. He’d never seen them without layers of excessive clothing before, but now—

“Are you okay?” asked Rory.

Fernald tried to say something coherent. “I—uh—wow. You look nice.” Now that he said it aloud, it sounded stupid. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.”

Rory gave a small smile. “I mean, we’re dating and I willingly undressed in front of you, so I think it’s probably okay.”

Fernald didn’t look convinced, so Rory went on, “Look, I give you permission to stare. As long as it’s good staring.” Their smile began to fade. “It _is_ good staring, right?”

“Definitely good,” said Fernald. “You’re very pretty—is _pretty_ okay? Should I use a different word?”

Rory shook their head. “It’s fine. And, um, thanks.”

“But you know that’s just a bonus, right?” asked Fernald, climbing into bed. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve always been attracted to you for your personality, not your appearance,” said Fernald. “Although that certainly isn’t a drawback.”

Rory turned out the light, though the room remained dimly lit by the green light that seemed to be present everywhere, yet had no definite source. They joined Fernald under the blankets. “I feel the same way toward you.” They sighed. “I’m sorry I’m not better at this. You keep telling me all these really nice things and I just keep going _yeah, same_.”

“It’s okay,” said Fernald. “People have different ways of expressing that they care.”

“Can I—can I show you?” they whispered.

“Of course. But you know you don’t need to, right?”

Rory moved closer. “I know. But I want to.” They rested a tentative hand on his shoulder. Fernald lowered his head to kiss the back of their hand. 

“You know we haven’t even kissed yet?” asked Rory.

“That’s true,” said Fernald.

“Let’s fix that.” They kissed Fernald softly. 

He let his eyes fall closed and felt a tingle almost as of electricity at the contact. Neither was sure which of them deepened the kiss, but for both of them it filled a need, sated a hunger that had been denied for too long. 

Fernald pulled Rory closer, one arm around their waist. Although he tried not to pay _too_ much attention to it, he couldn’t help but notice the way the silky fabric shifted up around their hips as they moved, giving him just a glimpse of their panties. Although he wanted very much to go further, he knew that might be moving too fast. 

Fernald sank back onto the pillows, bringing Rory with him, letting them fall into his arms. They nuzzled his throat and made a sound of contentment as Fernald reminded himself to breathe. 

“Wow,” murmured Fernald again. “You take my breath away figuratively and literally.”

Rory hid their face against his shoulder. “You shouldn’t flatter me so much. I might get conceited.”

“I don’t think that’s possible.”

Rory turned over onto their side to look at him as their smile slowly dissolved. “Fernald?”

“What is it?”

“I’m scared.”

He frowned. “Of me?”

“No, of course not.”

He gently stroked their arm. “Of what, then?”

“The future. I mean, like, the immediate future. Tomorrow. What’s going to happen when we get to Briny Beach?” Gazing up at Fernald, their eyes were huge and vulnerable. “What if we run into Olaf again? What if there are only more terrible people wherever we go? What are we supposed to _do_?”

“I don’t know,” said Fernald. “But don’t worry. Everything will be all right.” As he said it, Fernald knew, as do most people who make this promise, that it would most likely not be all right at all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It just keeps going!

Fernald held Rory close. They rested their head against his shoulder, the soft flutter of their eyelashes tickling his neck. 

“Fernald?”

“Yes?”

They didn’t answer right away, instead turning over to lie on their side next to him. “This could be the last night we have together.”

“Don’t think like that,” said Fernald.

“But it’s true. We have no idea what could happen in the morning.” They placed a hand against Fernald’s chest. “In case anything happens, I should—I want to make sure you really know, I meant everything I said earlier.” They leaned in and kissed him, then suddenly they were moving onto him, straddling his hips—

“Whoa, hold on.” Fernald placed his wrists against Rory’s shoulders. “I don’t want it to be like this.”

“You don’t—” Their face fell. “You don’t want me that way.” They moved back to sit on the corner of the bed, folded in on themselves, holding their knees. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have expected—”

Fernald sat up. “Sweetheart, no. Of course I do. Making love to you would be amazing, but not like this. Not because you’re scared that we’re going to die or never see each other again. Not because you think you have to prove anything to me. Look at me, okay?” he said gently.

They raised their downcast eyes to meet his, and Fernald saw that they’d begun to cry. 

“Hey, come here.” Fernald held his arms open, and, hesitantly, Rory came back to him, settling in against him, letting him stroke their hair. 

“I’m sorry,” they said, wiping their eyes. “I guess it’s been getting to me today, how I keep making people misunderstand me because I don’t sound the way I’m supposed to when I say things. I was afraid I’d done the same thing with you.”

“Shh,” said Fernald. He kissed them on the forehead. “You sound _exactly_ the way you’re supposed to. That’s just how you talk, and if you didn’t, you wouldn’t be _you_.”

Rory sniffled. “Really?”

“Of course. And you don’t need to worry. I know you meant every word you said before. You might not always say things in the same way that I would, but I know you care. I feel it.”

Rory hugged him tight, and Fernald knew they were conveying with touch what they struggled to put into words. 

“Also?” said Fernald. “You’re completely underestimating how much I want to sleep with you. Because I really, really want to. But I think we should wait. It doesn’t feel right like this.”

“That’s totally okay,” said Rory. “I understand.”

“And I promise you, whatever happens tomorrow, at the end of the day, we’ll be alive, and we’ll be together.”

“How do you know?”

“Because,” said Fernald, “I’ll make sure of it. But we should both get some sleep before we land.” He lay down, and Rory joined him, snaking one arm around his chest. 

“You know,” they said sleepily, “I always wondered why Rosencrantz and Guildenstern didn’t just burn the letter.”

Fernald considered this statement for some time, trying to decipher it before finally admitting, “I’m sorry. I don’t follow.”

“There’s a play,” they said vaguely, shifting against him, a comfortable weight against his chest. “Two characters are on a boat. They open the letter they’re supposed to deliver when they arrive, and find that it’s been replaced with one ordering their death.”

“So what do they do?” asked Fernald. 

“They talk about it a lot, but ultimately do nothing to alter their fate, and the play ends with their execution.”

“Well, that sounds pretty stupid,” Fernald couldn’t help but remark. 

“I mean, it’s—” Rory yawned again. “—necessary to carry to conclusion the text’s theme of free will versus chance. You know. Powerlessness of the individual against the universe, psychological prison of one’s own making, and so on.”

“I—uh—”

“Basically, you got it right the first time,” said Rory. “I think you’re meant to recognize the inherent absurdity of their failure to act in self-preservation.” They pulled the blankets closer around them. “Good night.”

“Good night,” said Fernald. As Rory drifted off to sleep, he held them close, and began to think.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like how nearly all of us headcanon that the Henchperson loves coffee even though they only mentioned it like one time on the show, lol. But I can totally get behind that. Coffee is life.

Fernald slept poorly. Eventually, he woke and couldn’t fall back asleep. If he was awake, he reasoned, he might as well go up and check the Queequeg’s progress with Fiona, and make himself useful somehow. (And maybe, a little bit, to make sure that it was all real, that Fiona was still there.) Silently, he disentangled himself from the blankets and began to slip out of bed. 

Before Fernald had both feet on the floor, Rory stirred and blinked up at him in confusion. Then they smiled at him, their face lighting up completely as if no other sight could have made them happier. “Hey.”

That was all it took for Fernald to crawl back under the covers. “Morning. I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

They kissed him on the cheek. “Are we there?”

“I was about to go find out. I don’t think so, though. It sounds like we’re still moving.”

Rory moved closer to Fernald and turned over. “Come here,” they murmured, and he obliged. His chest pressed against the warmth of their back; he slipped one arm around their waist, his skin gliding over their satin negligee that he’d almost succeeded in forgetting about. Fernald buried his face for a moment in their hair, inhaling its vaguely floral scent, and then nudged it aside to kiss them on the back of the neck.

Rory gave a sigh that was breathier than Fernald had expected. He kissed them again in the same spot, and this time, their sigh was definitely closer to a moan. For a moment, Fernald imagined how the situation could play out if he continued—he’d reach around to roughly grope their breasts through the satin, bite down on their shoulder, let his other arm wander down over their ass and between their legs—

_Self-control_ , he reminded himself. They both had other things to do here. 

“We should probably get up,” he said. 

“Mm. You’re not doing much to convince me. Staying right here sounds much more appealing.”

“What about breakfast?”

“Forget breakfast,” said Rory, and pulled the blankets over their head. Then one eye peeked back out from underneath. “Wait. Is there coffee?”

“There might be,” said Fernald. “Only one way to find out.”

“Okay, okay, I’m getting up.” Rory threw off the covers and leaned over to grab their clothes from the floor. 

Fernald stood and began to dress as well. Now that Rory was fully awake, he wanted—needed—to tell them everything he’d thought of while they were asleep, but he couldn’t find the words to begin. It wasn’t until they were both nearly dressed that he worked up the courage.

“Rory?”

“Yeah?”

Fernald hesitated once more, then he remembered his sister’s personal philosophy, and decided that this was a situation in which he could agree with it. 

When he didn’t answer immediately, they turned around. Fernald said, “I was thinking a lot last night, and I wanted to tell you something. Even if we’ve only been together since yesterday, we’ve known each other a lot longer than that. Maybe it’s still too soon for me to say this. But either way, I want you to know, whatever happens when we land—I love you.”

Rory stopped in the middle of lacing up their boots. Fernald couldn’t read their expression at all, and for a second, he was afraid he’d gone too far.

“I love you, too.”

It wasn’t the most romantic moment, as the two of them stood in the cramped captain’s quarters, half-dressed with an unmade bed between them, but they both meant it, and that was enough.

Then the submarine lurched violently, throwing both of them off balance. Fernald stumbled against the wall. Rory ended up on the floor. 

“Are you all right?” called Fernald. 

“I’m fine.” Rory picked themselves up off the floor. “Does this mean we’re there?”

“I think so. Come on.”

They both hurried out into the main room; at the same time, the Baudelaires emerged from the barracks, looking alarmed. 

“We made it,” said Fiona, looking up from the periscope, tired but happy. It occurred to Fernald that maybe he shouldn’t have let his teenage sister stay up all night piloting a submarine by herself, but then again, she had proclaimed herself captain, and seemed just as headstrong as their stepfather had been. 

“Are you ready?” Violet asked her siblings. 

They both nodded. 

“Fiona?”

“Aye! Let’s go.”

Fiona led the way down the corridor. The Baudelaires followed, and Fernald and Rory trailed at the back. 

When Fiona began to climb the ladder leading to the hatch, Fernald felt as if his stomach were filled with tiny, excited fishes, all swimming around in conflicting directions. 

“You said there would be coffee,” whispered Rory. 

“I said there _might_ be coffee,” Fernald whispered back, but the exchange helped him feel a little more normal.

“It’s open,” Fiona called down.

Violet started up the ladder, then Klaus, then Sunny. 

“You go first,” said Rory.

Fernald nodded and began to climb. Before long, he stood on the wet sand of Briny Beach next to his sister. The whole beach was shrouded in thick, grey fog. A sharp current of dread swept through him, but then Rory emerged from the Queequeg and hopped down to land beside him. 

Fernald breathed a sigh of relief. Rory moved closer and linked their arm through his. 

“What now?” said Fiona. 

“Gack!” said Sunny, pointing. 

They all turned. The mysterious figure approached silently through the fog. The Baudelaires huddled close together, Fiona took Klaus’s hand in hers, and Fernald felt Rory’s grip on his arm tighten in apprehension.


	12. Chapter 12

Mr. Poe stepped out of the fog, adjusted his bowler hat, and began to cough into his handkerchief. “Baudelaires! And—other people.” He squinted at Fernald. “Wait, didn’t you work as a temporary replacement for my secretary some time ago?”

“Er…no?” said Fernald, cursing himself for failing to come up with a convincing lie. 

“Oh, my mistake!” said Mr. Poe cheerfully. “Although you do bear a certain resemblance to him, I’m sure you’re a perfectly decent person, not at all like that nasty fellow who broke my typewriter.” His hacking cough began again, and he pressed his handkerchief to his mouth. 

“Is it you that we’re supposed to meet?” asked Klaus in disbelief. “You sent us the message?”

“Sent you a message? Goodness, no, children! In fact, I received a telegram myself just this morning telling me I’d find you here. You’d better come with me right away so we can clear up your numerous unfortunate legal misunderstandings.”

“No,” said Violet. “We can’t go with you.”

Sunny pointed again, past Mr. Poe. “Taxi,” she said. The vehicle idled closer, its headlights shining through the fog. 

“My sister is right,” said Klaus. “We’re not going with you. We’re getting in that taxi and going to the Hotel Denouement.” 

“You will do no such thing,” said Mr. Poe. 

Fernald cast his mind back to the ideas he’d mulled over the night before as he lay in bed with Rory, thinking of the play they’d told him about, and considering the possibility that he’d remained passive in too many situations when he might have had a choice after all. 

“I think there might be another option,” he said. The children turned expectantly to him, but before he could go on, the door of the taxicab opened. Out stepped a woman wearing a long black overcoat.

“Baudelaires!” she called. “We must make haste to the Hotel Denouement. There’s no time to lose!”

“Who are you?” asked Violet. 

“I’ll explain on the way. Quickly!”

“Perhaps it isn’t wise to get into cars with strangers,” said Fiona. 

“But a taxi driver is nearly always a stranger,” Klaus pointed out. “Getting into a taxi is simply an ordinary business transaction.”

“Pleite,” said Sunny, which meant “Not to complicate the situation further, but I feel compelled to point out that we haven’t any money.”

“Children,” said Mr. Poe loudly, which sent him into another coughing fit. When he’d finished, he continued, “I insist that you put a stop to this nonsense at once, and commit to the only sensible course of action, which is to accompany me to the police station.”

“Baudelaires,” said the taxi driver. “If you’re coming with me, it is imperative that we leave immediately. I must confess, your reluctance leaves me quite distraught.”

“The children will not be going anywhere with you,” said Mr. Poe. 

“The children must decide for themselves,” returned the taxi driver fiercely. 

“I assure you, as the executor of their parents’ estate—” began Mr. Poe. 

“You know nothing of the perilous situation which—” the taxi driver began at the same time, and as she and Mr. Poe continued to talk over each other, their voices increased in volume until they were both shouting. 

“ _Stop it!_ ”

They did stop, and everyone turned to stare at Rory in shock. For a second, they themselves seemed almost surprised that they had spoken up, but they quickly recovered.

“You know what?” said Rory. “ _Fuck this_ , seriously. It's not accomplishing anything. If you want to stand around arguing all day, go for it. But I’m not. I need a shower and a cup of coffee, and I’m sick of everyone shouting at each other. I’m leaving.” They turned to Fernald. “Are you coming with me?”


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So in a couple of my other fics, the Henchperson has a (totally non-canonical) sister, who briefly makes an appearance here, and also has a Virginia-Woolf-inspired name.

Fernald remembered his promise, and he didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

He took a step closer to Rory, and turned to his sister. “Fiona, even though I’m technically your guardian until we locate our stepfather, I know you’re going to make your own choice no matter what I tell you. But you should know you can come with us. All of you can come with us. Well, not you,” he told Mr. Poe, “or you,” he said to the taxi driver.

“You’re my brother,” said Fiona. “You may be the only family I have left, and I’m staying with you.” She looked sadly at Klaus, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and let go of his hand to stand next to Fernald. 

“Baudelaires?” said Rory. 

The three children looked uncertainly at one another. 

“We don’t know,” said Violet finally. “We only know the three of us have to stay together.”

Fiona sighed. “Goodbye, Klaus.”

“Goodbye, Fiona,” said Klaus. 

Fiona rested a hand on Fernald’s arm. “Let’s go.”

The three of them turned and started across the beach. Behind them, Mr. Poe and the woman in the taxi began to argue again. 

“I hope it works out for them,” said Fernald. 

“I hope they’ll be safe,” said Fiona, and her voice quavered. Fernald put an arm around her shoulders. 

“It’ll be all right,” he reassured her, even though he couldn’t know any such thing. 

When they’d nearly reached the edge of the sand, a distant voice behind them called out, “Wait!”

Fiona glanced back over her shoulder, then whirled around. “Klaus!”

Fernald and Rory turned to see all three Baudelaire siblings running over the beach toward them. Fiona took off running to meet them; when she reached them, she threw her arms around Klaus. 

Fernald felt himself relax, letting go of a tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying as he watched the Baudelaires and his sister slowly make their way up the beach. 

“You know,” he said, “that was really great, the way you handled the situation back there.”

“I thought maybe I was being selfish,” confessed Rory. “I just couldn’t take any more shouting.”

“You should take charge of things more often,” said Fernald. “To be honest, it’s kind of—well, you know.”

“Kind of what?”

Fernald grinned sheepishly. “Kind of a turn on. But I know it isn’t the time for that right now,” he added.

Rory sighed. “I guess not. I mean, it’s probably for the best that they’re coming with us, but what do we do with four children now?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” admitted Fernald. “I suppose the first step is to figure out where we’re going.”

“I was going to go home,” said Rory. “To my apartment. That was before we had so many people, though.”

“We could split up,” said Fernald. “Fiona and I could go to my place, and—”

“And leave me alone with three children? No way.”

“You’re right,” he agreed. “Besides, I want to stay with you.”

Fiona and the Baudelaires reached them now. 

“Are we still allowed to join you?” asked Violet timidly.

“Of course,” said Fernald. 

“But only if you walk faster,” said Rory. 

The Baudelaires looked shocked. 

Rory sighed again. “I was joking. Mostly.”

The group started off into the city, led by the two former henchpeople.

***

Before long, they had reached the Beverage District. 

After Rory led the procession through a few winding side streets, they stopped in front of a small, shabby café. “Here we are.”

“This is a coffee shop,” Klaus pointed out. 

“Upstairs,” said Rory, pointing to the rickety wooden staircase at the side of the building. They gave their keys to Fernald. “Let yourselves in. I’ll bring up coffee for everyone.”

“Unpassend,” said Sunny.

Rory blinked down at her. “What?”

“She said she’s too young for coffee to be a suitable choice of beverage,” supplied Fernald. 

“Oh, right. Children don’t drink…coffee…” Rory trailed off as the door of the café opened and a pair of customers exited, the intoxicating aroma of fresh coffee wafting after them. 

“I’ll help you carry it,” volunteered Fiona as Rory drifted toward the door. 

Fernald raised his eyebrows; Fiona returned a small smile and followed Rory into the café. Fernald shrugged and began to lead the Baudelaires up the stairs. 

When they reached the door, Fernald fumbled with the keys and failed to insert any of the likely-looking ones into the lock until Violet hesitantly said, “I don’t mean any offense, but would you like me to do that?”

Silently, Fernald relinquished the keys. Violet quickly chose the correct one and unlocked the door. The inside of the apartment was small but pleasant, and Fernald couldn’t help but notice the way the Baudelaires’ faces lit up at the sight of the bookshelves lining the wall. The children sat down quietly on the sofa, and Fernald sank into the room’s single armchair. 

“So,” he said. Now, facing the children, alone and without a plan, Fernald was at a loss. “Nice day, isn’t it?”

The children exchanged another one of those inscrutable looks that seemed to be their primary mode of communication. 

“Yes, the weather is pleasant,” said Klaus politely. 

“Neither too hot, nor too cold,” added Violet. 

“Light breeze,” Sunny contributed. 

Fernald forced a smile onto his face and hoped that the others would return soon. To his immense relief, the door opened a moment later, and Fiona and Rory entered and began to distribute beverages—tea for the elder Baudelaires, milk for Sunny, and coffee for Fiona and the adults. 

Sunny climbed into Violet’s lap to make room for Fiona on the sofa, and Rory lowered themselves to the floor next to Fernald. 

“You can have the chair,” he offered. 

Rory shook their head. “I’m good.” They took a drink of coffee, closed their eyes, and leaned back against the wall. 

“So what do we do now?” asked Fiona. 

“Now,” said Rory, “you tell us everything.”

The three Baudelaires began, haltingly, to tell of everything that had happened to them ever since that first day at Briny Beach, when they had received the news that their parents had perished in a terrible fire. They left out nothing, even the parts that Fernald and Rory had been present for, despite the chagrin evident on the adults’ faces when faced with a recounting of their participation in villainous deeds. When the story reached the point where the children had been picked up by the Queequeg, Fiona joined in to add a few details. 

Finally, the story ended, and the Baudelaires seemed drained of energy, but also, somehow, a touch more peaceful than they had been. 

“So…um…we’re totally sorry about all that stuff we did, by the way,” said Rory.

“Yes,” agreed Fernald. “We realize you’ve taken a risk by trusting us.”

“Despite your past behavior,” said Klaus, “your expression of remorse appears genuine.” He gestured toward the bookshelves. “Besides, it’s unlikely that an evil person would own so many books.”

Rory glanced toward the bookshelves with a frown. “That doesn’t seem like the most valid metric for morality, but okay.” They took another drink of coffee, which reminded Fernald to drink more of his own coffee, and then things began to fall into place in his mind. 

“But what do we _do_?” asked Fiona. 

“First,” said Klaus, “we must work tirelessly to clear our names. When we’ve successfully proven that we are innocent of the crimes of which we have been accused, and are no longer fugitives from the law, then our next task will be to convince Mr. Poe to place us with a suitable guardian.”

“After that,” said Violet, “assuming that we’re successful, it’s only a matter of waiting until I turn eighteen and can access our inheritance, and then I’ll be able to provide a safe home for my siblings.”

“Collaborate,” said Sunny, which meant, “I’m sure that with our combined talents of mechanical engineering, research, culinary skills, and mycology, we should solve the problem in no time.”

Fernald found himself nodding along with them, convinced by their conviction. 

“That sounds needlessly complicated,” said Rory. “I’ve got a better idea.”

***

An hour later, Fiona lay asleep on the sofa and the Baudelaires sat on the floor, the elder two siblings teaching Sunny to read from a copy of _Anna Karenina_. Rory, having washed the dishes that Sunny had used to prepare a delicious breakfast of French toast and fresh fruit, had gone to draw themselves a bath. Fernald dozed off in his armchair for a little while, then woke with a start. Finding that the children were all still accounted for, and the ones who were awake were deeply absorbed in their reading, he went to the kitchen and brewed a pot of coffee. 

When it was ready, he poured a cup with less trouble than he expected, and stole down the hallway to the bathroom. 

He tapped gently on the door. “May I come in?”

“Go ahead.”

Fernald pushed open the door and stepped inside. The room was hot, filled with steam and the scent of lavender. Rory was nearly hidden in the old-fashioned bathtub, only their face visible above a sea of soap bubbles. Fernald shut the door behind him. 

“Would you like some more coffee?” he asked, offering them the cup.

“Always.” One hand emerged from the bubbles to take the cup. Rory sipped experimentally. “Ooh, that’s strong.”

“Too much?” asked Fernald. 

“No, just right.” They set down their cup, tipped their head back against the edge of the tub, and gave him a dreamy smile. “You’re amazing.”

“It’s only coffee,” protested Fernald.

“Yeah, but no one has brought me coffee in the bath before. In fact, I don’t think anyone’s brought me coffee _ever_.”

Fernald knelt down next to the tub and kissed them softly. “Better get used to it.” Then he frowned, and remembered the other reason he had come to talk to them. “Are you sure it’s a good idea?”

“Having a second cup of coffee?” asked Rory with a puzzled look.

“No, involving your associate. Are you really sure she can help?”

“I told you, she’s not my _associate_ , she’s my sister. And if anyone can help the children, she can.”

“Okay,” said Fernald. “I trust you.” He kissed Rory again, then, remembering their earlier reaction, shifted on his knees so that he sat behind them. Leaning over the tub, he gently kissed them on the back of the neck. The sound of splashing water told him that he’d taken them by surprise, but it wasn’t _bad_ surprise, judging by the way they exhaled sharply and leaned back into his touch. 

Slowly, deliberately, Fernald did it again. 

Rory gave a whimper.

“Shh,” said Fernald wickedly. “You’ve got to be quiet.” He kissed their neck again, this time letting them feel just a hint of teeth.

“Oh my God,” they whispered. “All this teasing is driving me crazy.”

“Do you want me to stop?” he asked.

“I mean…no.” 

Fernald grinned, moved around to face them again, and kissed them on the shoulder, on the collarbone, moving lower as they arched back out of the tub, biting down gently when he reached the soft flesh of their breast. 

Then he stopped and sat up. “Enjoy your bath.”

“I—what—you’re leaving? Seriously?” said Rory.

“I wouldn’t be a very responsible guardian if I left the children alone for too long, would I?” said Fernald in feigned innocence. He stood. “Better drink your coffee before it gets cold.”

Rory’s eyes narrowed. “I hate you.”

Fernald smirked. “I know. But I’ll make it up to you later.”

He wiped traces of soap bubbles from his face and returned to the living room. The Baudelaires didn’t even glance up from their book. 

A short time later, there came a knock at the door. 

“Tell her I’ll be right there,” called Rory from down the hall. 

“I will.” Fernald answered the door to find himself facing a tall woman with her dark hair pulled back into a bun. She wore a business suit and a severe expression. 

“Hello,” he said. 

“Hello.” She glanced at the number on the door, as if suddenly doubting that she’d come to the right apartment. “Is Rory here?”

“Yes, they’ll be right out. I’m their—uh—”

“Hey,” said Rory, emerging into the living room wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. The woman broke into a smile, and the change was astounding; now Fernald could see the family resemblance. She stepped inside and embraced Rory. 

“My favorite sibling,” she said drily. 

“Your only sibling.”

“Yes, that’s the joke.” She shot a questioning glance toward Fernald. 

“Oh! Right,” said Rory. “This is Fernald. My boyfriend,” they added, taking him by the arm. Fernald felt a rush of pride at that, and couldn’t help grinning, even though he was sure he looked foolish. 

“And this is my sister, Clarissa. She’s a lawyer.”

“Nice to meet you,” said Fernald. 

The adults turned to face the children. 

“Baudelaires,” said Rory. “Meet the woman who has a realistic chance of solving at least some of your problems.”

“Wow, you make me sound so impressive,” she murmured. 

“I’m just being truthful.”

“So, children,” said Clarissa, sitting down in the only vacant chair. “Let’s talk.”

***

A few hours later, Fernald and Rory finally found themselves alone. The Baudelaires had, with much coaxing, repeated their story to Clarissa. At that point, Fernald had gone to take a shower. He spent what he considered far too much time under the hot water, but it was so relaxing, as if the tension of the past weeks—of the past _lifetime_ —was being rinsed away. When he returned to the living room, the Baudelaires were still talking as Clarissa took notes. Finally, with even more coaxing, they had agreed to accompany Clarissa to give statements at the police station.

Not long after, Fiona had woken up, drunk another cup of coffee, and then declared that she was going shopping.

“Although uniforms serve both a practical and a symbolic purpose,” she said, “I would like some clothing that doesn’t feature a portrait of Herman Melville.”

“I don’t blame you,” said Rory.

“Do you need money?” asked Fernald. “I don’t have a lot, but I can probably spare a little.”

“No,” said Fiona. “I share access to our stepfather’s bank account, and if you recall, our family is actually quite wealthy.”

“I try not to,” murmured Fernald. “All right. Be back before dark.”

“And remember,” said Rory, “don’t feel compelled to limit yourself to the women’s department if that doesn’t fit who you are as a person.”

Fiona smiled. “Thanks—hey, should I call you Aunt or Uncle?”

“Um…neither? You could just, like, call me by my name?”

Fiona considered for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Thanks, Rory.” She hugged Fernald goodbye. “See you later.”

And with that, she was out the door.

Rory sank down on the sofa and breathed a sigh of relief. “Don’t get me wrong, your sister is cool and everything, but I’m so glad everyone is gone, you don’t even know.”

“Are you all right?” asked Fernald, taking a seat next to them. 

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just that being around that many people for so long is exhausting.”

“Well, you can relax now,” said Fernald. “I would offer you a back rub, but I’m afraid I’m not very good at it.” 

“That’s okay,” said Rory. They leaned over and rested their head on Fernald’s shoulder. “Honestly, the entire past day has been kind of a roller coaster.”

“It has,” agreed Fernald. “But I have to say I’m happy with how it’s turned out.” He placed an arm around their shoulders, drawing them closer. 

“Me too,” said Rory. 

Fernald kissed them on top of the head. “I never thought I’d get to do this.”

“I never thought you would want to.”

He held them closer. “There’s _so much_ I want to do.”

Rory looked up at him. “Like what?”

“Like this.” He kissed them, and what began as an innocent brush against their lips quickly became more intense and went on longer than he’d anticipated. Soon, he was shifting on the sofa, pulling Rory into his lap. “Is this okay?”

“Absolutely.” They kissed him again, and Fernald rocked his hips upward, making them moan into the kiss. 

“Remember how I said I’d make it up to you later for teasing you?” he said. 

“Yeah?”

“It’s later.”


	14. Chapter 14

Rory drew in a shaky breath. “Come with me,” they said, catching hold of Fernald’s arm and leading him down the hallway and into the bedroom. 

Then they stopped and turned to him. “I know last night I was being stupid and took things too fast, and I’m sorry about that. If you don’t really want to—”

Fernald touched them lightly on the arm with his hook. “Hey, it wasn’t stupid. You made a move and I wasn’t ready. Nobody was really in the wrong. Besides,” he added, “under the circumstances, I would have felt like I was taking advantage of you.”

“Do you still feel that way now?” asked Rory. 

“No,” said Fernald, and kissed them. After they broke apart, Rory ran a hand down Fernald’s chest. 

“Do you know how much I want you?” they murmured. 

“Oh, really?” Fernald hoped he sounded collected and flirtatious, and not as flustered and giddy as he actually felt.

“Like you couldn’t tell.” Rory kissed him again and Fernald lost himself in it, closing his eyes, the world dissolving outside of physical sensation. Rory drew him in close, one hand clutching the back of his shirt, the other resting at his hip before slipping further down to give his ass a mischievous squeeze. All the touch was overwhelming—their breasts pressed against his chest, their tongue in his mouth, and he wanted to surrender completely. 

Finally, they both had to come up for air. Fernald rested his forehead against Rory’s shoulder, breathing heavily. 

“You’re going to kill me,” he murmured. 

“I hope not.”

“Give me a second.” Fernald stepped away, causing Rory to give a tiny whimper of disappointment, but they perked up again when he pulled off his shirt and then began to remove his prosthetics. 

Rory sat down on the bed. When Fernald was ready, he climbed into their lap and kissed them again. Rory sank back onto the mattress, giving Fernald a look of invitation. 

Fernald pushed up Rory’s dress, running his wrists over the pale skin of their thighs, over their hard cock straining against the material of their panties. To his surprise, before he could do anything else, Rory shifted to one side, tipping Fernald onto the bed and reversing their positions. 

They hurriedly opened his fly and tugged his pants down his thighs, freeing his erection. “Fuck, I can’t take it anymore—need you—”

“God, yes, touch me.”

Rory stroked him with one hand while they pulled down their own panties with the other. Then they moved forward, gently holding Fernald’s cock in place as they rubbed their own against it lightly. 

Fernald gasped, arching up off the bed. This was intense, and it had been such a long time—

Rory slowed down. “Are you okay?”

Fernald nodded hastily. “It’s good—so good, don’t stop.”

Rory resumed their pace, both of them now leaking precome, skin slick as they moved against each other. Fernald couldn’t help thrusting upward even though it disrupted the rhythm Rory had going, but they didn’t seem to mind, either. 

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted to do this?” they breathed. “How long I’ve wanted to—” they broke off, shuddering, “— _fuck_ —to make you come like this?”

“Please,” panted Fernald. “Do it.”

Rory continued to thrust, tracing their fingertips over the head of Fernald’s cock, letting the pad of their thumb play over the slit, and then he was coming, crying out at the intensity of it. Rory stroked him gently until he was completely spent, then took their own cock in their hand. 

“No,” said Fernald, still short of breath as he pushed their hand away. “Let me.”

He pushed Rory down onto the bed, got to his knees, and took them into his mouth. 

“Oh my God.”

Fernald moaned in agreement, still unbearably turned on by the taste of himself on their skin, the way their thick cock filled his mouth. He couldn’t help imagining how it would feel in his ass, even the thought of it making him shiver. He pulled back to look up into their eyes and say, “Come for me, sweetheart,” before plunging them back into his mouth, taking them as deep into his throat as he could. Rory came almost immediately, spilling into his mouth with a cry.

Afterward, Fernald moved up to lie next to them. Rory threw an arm lazily over Fernald’s chest and kissed him.

“That was wonderful.”

Fernald smirked. “And here I was, afraid I’d be out of practice.” He kissed Rory on the forehead, and they pulled him closer. 

“What do we do now?” they asked. 

Fernald considered. “I think now we have to figure out the rest of our life.”


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally finished!

~~Several months later~~ 

Clarissa had successfully cleared the Baudelaires of all charges, instituted a libel suit against the Daily Punctilio which was likely to be settled out of court, and had the orphans placed in the care of Justice Strauss, whom she had caught on the telephone just as the judge was on her way out the door to the Hotel Denouement. Overjoyed at the prospect of raising the three children she had grown to care for, Justice Strauss never went to the hotel. 

Fernald had been relieved by this—although he liked the Baudelaires, especially Sunny, he knew that in reality, he and Rory weren’t ready to care for four children. Fiona was enough of a challenge as it was, even if she was nearly an adult. 

No word had been heard from Captain Widdershins. Fernald had caught Fiona crying a few times and tried to comfort her, although she was reluctant to talk about it at first. Eventually, to his surprise, she opened up to Rory, whom she’d come to view as something of a maternal figure. Fernald supposed this made sense, since Rory would braid Fiona’s hair before school (Fernald had insisted that she begin regularly attending a real school again) and helped her with her homework, except for math, which they were hopeless at.

After a few weeks of the three of them living together in Rory’s too-small apartment and hunting for a more suitable residence, they found a surprising solution. The former henchpeople had accompanied Fiona to visit the Baudelaires, and learned from Justice Strauss that Count Olaf’s former residence across the street was for sale for a very reasonable price, given its dilapidated condition. In fact, they found out, the foreboding mansion had never actually belonged to Olaf in the first place; he’d merely been squatting there. 

Fernald now had access to the Widdershins fortune, and after a long, serious talk with Rory and Fiona, they purchased the house and moved in, throwing themselves into the task of making it livable. They had plenty of help from the Baudelaires. Violet had a talent for fixing, well, everything, and Klaus amassed an encyclopedic knowledge of the most effective cleaning and repair techniques from the reference books in Justice Strauss’s library. Sunny assisted by preparing snacks for the others as they worked. Sometimes Fernald helped her with the tasks that were too dangerous for a young child, and his own cooking skills improved. Justice Strauss helped with gardening advice, and soon the exterior of the house was rehabilitated as well. The backyard contained a pleasant garden, complete with a section of interesting fungi, which was Fiona’s special pride. 

Rory joined one of the city’s more reputable theatrical troupes, and tried to recruit Fernald as well, but he chose to stay home with Fiona until she left for college in a few more months. Although she was only sixteen, she had flown through her school’s most advanced coursework and been accepted to study mycology at a prestigious university. 

On evenings when Fiona went to study in Justice Strauss’s library with the Baudelaires, Fernald and Rory would sit in the garden and share a bottle of wine under the light of the night’s first stars. 

They didn’t live happily ever after. Nobody does. But they never again allowed themselves to be caught under the spell of a terrible villain, and they loved each other, and that was enough.


End file.
